


I Want to Save Your Light

by iammisscullen



Category: One Direction
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tokyo Ghoul, Gore, Graphic deaths, M/M, Mentions of Blood, OT5, Romance, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-18
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-04-21 08:35:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4822412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iammisscullen/pseuds/iammisscullen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn tries to live a normal life. But that's not even possible with monsters lurking at every corner.</p><p>or a Tokyo Ghoul AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Boy with Grey-Blue Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, this is based on the anime/manga [Tokyo Ghoul](https://www.google.com.ph/url?sa=t&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=web&cd=1&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CBsQFjAAahUKEwiXytbAjIDIAhXlJaYKHR_CD4o&url=https%3A%2F%2Fen.wikipedia.org%2Fwiki%2FTokyo_Ghoul&usg=AFQjCNHDrokwnOhitmTWsLvtSCXOYEtosg&sig2=WRrQzXuCwTjvIqWkNOJhlA&bvm=bv.102829193,d.dGY) so expect violence and gore. And mentions of cannibalism. I can't promise you anything but it will be bloody. So yeah, HAPPY HALLOWEEN!
> 
> I would also like to thank my wonderful, beautiful, and awesome beta: [slytherakin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherakin/works) for editing this and helping me so so much (despite how this isn't her fandom) because she's a saint. Thank you so much, Twin!
> 
> I'm also not good with tagging things so you better be warned that THERE WILL BE DEATH AND VIOLENCE. I am doing this because I love to challenge myself.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

 

_Paralysed by the fact that I've changed,_  
_In a paradise filled with nothing but unrecoverable things,  
Please remember me._

**-Unravel _(Tokyo Ghoul)_**

**

 **_Reporter:_ ** _16 men were found dead last night at the 12 th District. According to police reports it was a ghoul attack. Head Investigator, Carlisle Watson, strongly believed that the massacre was done by the infamous ghoul called, Glutton. This incident led the officials of the district to drop the curfew from 9pm to 7pm. These creatures are said to roam mostly at night, so people are requested to stay indoors at early hours while the Commission of Counter Ghoul try to solve this problem._

**

‘What about that one?’ Harry nods toward some boy with blue eyes behind his glasses, reading an _Iron Man_ comics.

Zayn turns to where Harry had pointed, sees the handsome boy and looks away quickly. He sips his coffee, a blush blooming on his cheeks.

How can an attractive boy be at a coffee shop all by himself? Faces like that shouldn’t sit all alone, they should be drinking coffee or tea with someone – his mum used to say that drinks taste better when you’re with someone you love. He hopes that that boy knows that because it’s a waste if the boy’s alone.

The ripples on his drink continue; it suddenly feels chilly in the cosy café, thinking about his mum had always rubbed him cold.

‘What do you think?’ Harry’s leaning forward, crowding Zayn’s space despite the table between them. Harry’s always been good distraction when Zayn feels like he’s being choked by his own thoughts.

‘I don’t know,’ he says lowly; stares at his cup instead because Harry’s face is too close and he’s dizzy with how green Harry’s eyes are, and his wild curls that frames his face, making him seem so soft as if he’s 16 again.

Harry’s brows furrow and he leans back on his own chair. ‘That’s not going to get you laid.’

Zayn blushes even more and glares at his best friend. ‘I don’t need a shag.’

‘Sure you do,’ the boy says with a shrug. ‘We’re 21, on the last leaf of our university years – the year where we should be making big mistakes before setting our lives right for the big real world.’

He rolls his eyes at his best friend. ‘Deciding to keep you around is a huge mistake already. Let me not regret it more.’ Harry kicks his shin under the table. ‘Ow!’

Zayn looks around the coffee shop, feeling the other patrons’ eyes on him. He blushes, never enjoying the attention. The blush deepens when he locks gaze with the brunet feather-haired boy – his beautiful grey blue eyes staring at Zayn with interest.

As if he’s been burned, Zayn drops his head immediately and turns to his cup of coffee, silently cursing Harry’s existence. Of course, Harry will _always_ find ways to embarrass him.

‘He’s looking at you,’ Harry whispers with a grin.

Zayn looks up from his cup to Harry, who’s currently making eye contact with someone. Curiosity kills a cat, they say, but he never learned…so, he follows Harry’s gaze and it ends to the same pretty boy – and this time, the boy’s smiling back at them.

And once again they lock gaze and Zayn should turn back to his cup now; his mum had taught him that staring is impolite. But the boy’s smiling at him – so open and friendly that it holds him hostage.

Zayn can feel Harry wave from his seat and the other boy waves back, but his eyes are never leaving Zayn’s.

‘He’s coming over,’ Harry announces as if Zayn can’t see – how can he not when he hasn’t stop looking at those blue eyes and easy smile.

As pretty boy moves towards them, Zayn’s heart thrums harder in his chest that it’s the only thing he can hear – it echoes in his head, makes his logic swim with incoherency.

‘Hi,’ the boy greets, voice high pitch than any other boys Zayn had met in his life. It’s so soft that makes you think of clouds, or your favourite pillow.

‘Hello,’ Harry greets back because Zayn’s useless at start-up conversations. ‘Care to join us?’

‘Hope you don’t mind?’ the boy’s asking Harry but his eyes lingers on Zayn.

 _Why is he wearing that brown knitted jumper that looks big on him?_ Zayn wanted to ask because it makes pretty boy look adorable that Zayn starts thinking of warm bed, soft duvet, and cuddling.

‘Not at all,’ Harry answers because Zayn’s only capable of staring as of the moment.

The boy sits down. ‘I’m Louis,’ he says, wetting his lips with his tongue before smiling sweetly.

Zayn can hear Harry introducing them both, but Zayn’s lost – lost in the thought of Louis’ glistening lips that looks like those caramel covered apples he loves to eat at festivals when he was small. He could lean – he can, really – and taste them, see if they’re as sweet.

Maybe Harry’s right, he needs to get laid because he’s bloody losing his mind with all the dirty thoughts he’s having.

**

 **_Reporter:_ ** _First ghoul attack to happen in 2 years in District 13. Mrs. Zhang, the flat owner from the 2 nd floor of this building behind me, is here to tell us about the details of what really happened last night._

 ** _Mrs. Zhanng:_** _I returned home from work and was about to start the dinner preparations when I realised that I have no butter to use for my recipe. I could have asked my husband but his shift always ends late, so I decided to buy it from the store myself. It’s barely a 5 minutes walk from here to the grocery store and it’s not even that dark outside._ [voice quivers] _And that’s when it happened… I was going back from the store with my groceries. There’s this unlit alley on the way from the flat building; as I passed, I heard wolfish sounds of someone eating. A chill run down my spine and I knew I had to run. But it was too late, two pair of red eyes emerges from the shadows._ [shivers] _I couldn’t move. As it came closer, I can smell the blood before seeing it. And from the darkness, the ghoul with bloody hands and face was my neighbour: Charlie Young. I couldn’t believe it. This monster was my sweet neighbour and he’s looking at me, like… like…_ [covers face with hands and sobs] _It was horrible!_ [looks back into the camera] _I was so scared. He walked towards me with the same diabolic smile. I can tell that I won’t stand a chance; he’s a ghoul and I’m a human without weapon. He reached for me…but before he could get to me something struck him and he’s falling on the ground. I fainted then. That’s how the police found me._

 ** _Reporter:_** _Mrs. Zhang’s experience is indeed a ghoul attack. Not to mention the dead body that was found at the dark alley. Officials discovered that the corpse was Daisy Jacobs, Charlie’s girlfriend._ [pauses] _This is a warning to the rest of us. We must remember that these monsters – these ghouls—look exactly like us, talk like us, and look normal like us, only that they aren’t. They eat human flesh to live, and they have incredible strength and special abilities to overpower us… They are real. They could be your co-worker, your classmate, your neighbour, your mate, or your family member. They are dangerous. And they are beyond reason because all they want is your blood and flesh._

**

‘How did it go?’ Harry asks, putting an arm around his best mate.

Zayn shrugs him off of him, not stopping for a beat from the codes he’s encrypting in his laptop. He doesn’t even bother glaring at Harry for the stunt he pulled yesterday so he can leave Zayn and Louis to themselves.

He reaches for his cup of coffee and chugs down two sips. He’s glad he didn’t choose a table outside because even if it’s not raining, it’s chilly out, especially at this time of year with October nearing to an end.

He’s not wearing many layers, so he’s prone to the coldness of the weather – unlike Harry who’s wearing his usual brown jacket which covers his white tee; he’s also wearing his favourite maroon scarf, dark skinny jeans, and his brown boots. Zayn’s not even sure why he decided to only wear a grey long sleeve shirt, his ripped jeans, and his combat boots. He should have worn a jacket or a jumper over his shirt.

‘This is not how you thank your best mate for hooking you up,’ Harry says, mocking disappointment.

Zayn remains quiet, fix on ignoring Harry because that’s the best he could do to show his contempt.

‘Zed,’ Harry calls, drawling the _e_ like there’s 14 of them in the transcription for _z._ He drapes himself on Zayn’s back, each arms curtain over Zayn’s shoulder. His breath washes on the exposed skin on Zayn’s neck. ‘I’m already repenting. Now, spill the beans?’ He nudges his nose on the side of Zayn’s neck.

He knows it’s ridiculous for his heart to skip a beat when he’s sure that Harry’s the type who loves to get touchy with people. Zayn often teases him as a baby koala. So it’s really silly. His heart shouldn’t get excited over normal shown of affection from Harry.

Zayn’s fingers halt typing as he looks over his shoulder – his hazel eyes meeting green ones. Harry’s so close again but so out of reach. He sighs and scolds his heart for assuming too much. He turns back to his screen and types more on his _html_.

‘Zayn,’ Harry whines, the fucking spoiled brat that he is. He bites at Zayn’s neck like a vampire, causing Zayn to jump a little from his seat at the mild pain.

‘What the fuck?’ He glares at Harry, the boy already backing away, laughing as he steps back.

‘Serves you right.’ Harry sticks his tongue out at Zayn.

‘I hate you,’ he mutters and moves his fingers over the computer keys because he can’t bear to look at Harry’s adorable petulant face without his will crumbling to just forgive his best mate.

‘And you love me more,’ Harry retorts, giggling and occupies the chair next to Zayn. He’s taking out his own laptop and placing it on the table. They’re both senoirs at uni and are both IT students. And like Zayn, Harry also has coding assignments.

Zayn continues typing away and Harry starts as well, the sound of them pushing on the laptop keys whiffs through the late morning air. He steals a glance at Harry, now with his reading glasses on.

‘You can either stare at me or tell me,’ Harry comments, eyes not leaving his monitor and fingers working over the keys with gusto.

He snorts. ‘Fine,’ he says with defeat. There’s no way around this anyway, he’ll either tell Harry now or risk the chances of Harry snooping around – and that means: Harry following him not-so-secretly.

Being mates with Harry is fucking troublesome, he’s so overprotective sometimes it’s strangling. But then, he knows that Harry has enough reasons. And he’s not going to complain about Harry anyways because that’s Harry: kind and caring.

‘We’re going to see each other after school,’ he confesses, eyes on his monitor because he can feel Harry’s gaze on him. And he’s not ready to see the boy’s reaction to his date.

‘That’s fantastic,’ Harry exclaims, the leg of his chair scraps a little on the wooden floor with his enthusiasm. He tends to move a lot. ‘You should layer-up more though, because it’s getting chilly this time of the year.’ He eyes Zayn’s thin layer and subconsciously arranges the scarf that’s wrapped around his neck.

Zayn sneezes on cue, feeling chill despite being inside the café. ‘S’cuse me.’ He looks up and sees Harry’s worried face.

‘Here,’ he says as he removes his scarf. He puts it around Zayn’s shoulder and twirls it loosely on the boy’s neck. ‘There.’ He smiles, that one that’s only reserved for Zayn.

Zayn blushes deeply, holding the cloth closer to his face. He moves the material to his nose, covering half of his face. It smells just like Harry. It smells like sunshine, warm chocolate, and sandalwood. It’s perfect.

‘Thanks,’ he says, feeling all too warm inside now.

‘Don’t lose it, okay?’ Harry smiles and winks at him.

Maybe Harry’s an annoying friend. But Harry’s the only one who annoys Zayn and makes sure that Zayn eats 3 times a day, he’s the only one who cooks for Zayn if Zayn’s sick, he’s the only one who endures watching all those anime with Zayn. Harry’s all Zayn has.

**

Zayn’s last period ends at 4pm and by 4:30 he’s ordering a cup of coffee from his favourite barista, Liam, at _Hikari_ _Coffee Shop_.

And because Zayn’s shy, even if he’s a patron, he only manages a _Thank you_ for his cup instead of any friendly conversations with Liam which is how different he is to Harry. If Zayn had Harry’s confidence, he’d be able to talk to Liam even for a bit since there’s not a lot of costumer; maybe he can thank Liam for putting up the shop because it’s now one of Zayn’s safe haven, and there’s not a lot all throughout the city.

He takes a sip at his coffee. And as always, it tastes wonderful. He should really put up the courage to talk to Liam and praise his fantastic ability in coffee making.

‘Hi,’ someone greets.

Zayn looks up and is drowned into two pools of grey-blue eyes.

‘Did you wait long?’ Louis asks, taking the seat across Zayn. He’s licking his dry lips and starts removing his brown coat.

‘No,’ Zayn answers as he tries not to stare too much on Louis. He doesn’t want to seem like a creep. But he can’t help but notice how nice Louis’ eyes are without his reading glasses. He also didn’t miss that Louis’ wearing a scarf too which makes him blush because they match, even the colour.

Louis notices as well because he giggles at Zayn and points at their scarves.

God, even Louis’ giggle is so elegant and attractive, Zayn’s about to make a run out the door because he doesn’t deserve to be seating with Louis. Zayn thinks that he should be alone in a corner somewhere, he’s used to it anyways.

But when he thinks about it – as he remembers that time when he was 5, playing all alone in the corner of the Day Care Centre that his mum drops him to with Harry crowding his space and telling him about that time Harry broke a leg – Zayn’s sure that Harry will probably be in that corner with him saying how they can be alone together because that sounds less depressing.

‘Zayn?’ Louis calls, face slightly worried.

He needs to stop going so much into his head till he can’t find his way back.

‘Is everything okay?’ Louis asks.

Zayn nods and curses himself for overthinking again. Harry had pointed out a lot of times that Zayn’s good a listener, if only Zayn can stop getting lost inside his own depressing thoughts. Harry’s right of course. But when you have voids inside your own mind, it’s easy to fall deep and never find your way out.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. Where is Harry when you need someone to talk for him?

Louis smiles, understanding somehow. ‘I know we don’t know each other much,’ he says and reaches out for Zayn’s hand on the table. He squeezes it softly. ‘But you can talk to me, okay?’

Zayn stares at Louis’ delicate hand and his almond shape fingernails. Louis’ hand is warm and makes Zayn feel secure.

‘Thanks,’ he replies and turns his palm up, gripping Louis’ hand as well.

Their hands remained intertwined for the rest of their ‘date’ (this is one, right?). They share about their favourite comic. Zayn’s glad they’re both _Marvel_ fans. While Louis’ favourite character is Iron Man, Zayn insists that Thor can beat Stark.

They have a friendly debate about it; Louis smiling fondly at Zayn’s narrated examples on how the Thunder God will defeat Tony in a fight. And each time Zayn’s having doubts in sharing his thoughts, Louis will squeeze his hand softly to encourage him to continue.

At some point, Niall – Zayn and Harry’s favourite server – brings them two slices of carrot cake that they insisted they didn’t order.

‘It’s on the house,’ the blonde boy replies with a laugh and winks at Zayn.

Liam’s smiling at him from the counter and Zayn smiles back with a nod. He’s lucky have caring people around him.

‘Should we get going?’ Louis asks and that’s the only time Zayn realised that it’s already dark outside.

**

 **_Reporter:_ ** _5 construction workers were found dead yesterday morning in District13 and another 3 were found dead this afternoon. There’s no doubt that this was a doing by a ghoul. As many have known that ghouls don't need to eat in the short term like humans do. They can survive for one or two months just feeding on one body. Although ghouls can go up to two months without human flesh, some ghouls can feed on more than eleven people in just a few days, This is known as binge eating, a habit sustained by the infamous Glutton. Head Investigator Santiago Villasis strongly believes that Glutton is in District 13 at the moment. The Commission of Counter Ghoul had been deploying Ghoul Investigators to hunt for Glutton._

**

If Zayn thinks that it’s cold outside, then he’s wrong because it’s freezing out.

 _Shit!_ He wants to kick himself for not wearing more layers.

And as if Louis reads his mind or maybe Louis notices the ghostly breathe Zayn’s been airing out, he grabs Zayn’s cold hand and intertwines it with his own warm one. ‘Better?’

Zayn flushes – it’s a good thing that he’s already red with the cold around them so Louis doesn’t notice how embarrass he is for being ever-so-troublesome. Remember when he teases Harry for being touchy? Well, he’s really not in the place to tease when he’s the one who takes a lot of caring because he’s shit at self-care.

‘Where do you live, Louis?’ Zayn asks, looking around as tall and unmade buildings tower over them both. Why are they even in a construction site?

‘S’not far,’ Louis answers. He lets go of Zayn’s hand as he walks five steps away from Zayn.

Without Louis’ touch, Zayn’s fingers are wintry. He suddenly feels the cold creeping in under his skin, just like that one tragic day – that day he lost it all.

‘Zayn?’ Louis calls.

A shiver rundown Zayn’s spine, he’s five steps away from Louis – five steps that separates him for the warmth that he needs to keep the chill away.

‘Do you love me?’ Louis asks.

Zayn can’t answer. Love is too soon for this, he thinks as he stares at the back of Louis brown coat.

‘Do you like me then?’ Louis inquires, turning around and facing Zayn with that same open and friendly smile he gave Zayn the very first day they met.

Why is Louis asking him this?

‘Zayn?’ Louis calls again.

Zayn blushes. He’s not used to confessing his feelings.

‘Let’s start with the basic, okay?’ Louis takes one step closer to Zayn. ‘Do you find me attractive?’

He looks away, too shy as always. But he nods.

‘That’s great,’ Louis exclaims and Zayn can hear the smile in his voice. ‘I need you to look at me,’ he demands, voice going into a different cadence that Zayn finds terrifying.

This isn’t the soft-spoken Louis that he knew. What did he know about Louis anyway?

‘Zayn.’ Louis’ whining now. He’s three steps away from Zayn.

Who is this Louis? _Who is Louis to begin with?_

‘Last question, Zayn.’ Louis’ grinning, it’s not the elegant one that Zayn likes – it’s wolfish. It makes Zayn shiver. ‘Will you die for me?’

Zayn wants to speak out a _What?_ but his throat closed-in on him as stabs of pain envelops his body. He looks down and sees the blood that decorates his grey long sleeves. He blinks once and his brain catches up immediately with what he saw.

He’s bleeding. That’s his blood on his sweater. And the dark sharp thing that stabbed him, what’s that?

He looks up and sees Louis’ menacing smile – it sits wrong on the boy’s angelic face. The lovely grey-blue eyes that Zayn got lost in are now bright red, like embers; they look like blazing flames – dangerous and frightening.

Louis licks the blood that stains near his mouth. ‘Tasty.’ He laughs darkly.

Zayn looks away, disgusted by the fact that he used to find Louis licking his lips adorable. And that cute little laugh doesn’t seem lovely at all, it sounds diabolic – it mutes every sound like the water that threatened to drown Zayn when he was 6.

The next thing that Zayn registers is the pain – it just aches all over as if he’d been hit by a truck. He’s not entirely sure which is worst, being stab or being hit by a truck.

He’s got wounds, eh? He’s soiled his grey sweater and it hurts. _It hurts_. It hurts so much he thinks he’ll faint. Does it always hurt like this?

He remembers when he was 10 and he’s helping his mum make dinner. He insisted to cut the potatoes but he lacerated himself on the process. He can recall how much he cried and how they rushed him to the A&E to get stitches.

He thought that that would be the worst feeling of all, that it was the most painful wound he’ll ever have. But when the day his heart got broken, when everything he loved got taken away from him – he knew that that wound from he was 10 was nothing compared to losing the people you love.

And this right now – he believes – he can deal with this pain. This ache will come to pass. Yes, he can take this one.

He sees the other two tails of Louis’ _kagune_ – realising what stabbed him. The other two of Louis’ _kagune_ impaling him and causing him all these pain he feels from the top of his head to the end of his toes.

‘You’re boring,’ Louis says harshly, all the genuine care in his voice is gone. He licks his lips. ‘I expected you to scream,’ he says and pushes Zayn closer to him with the use of his _kagune_ that’s holding Zayn up from the ground. ‘Will you scream for me, Zayn?’

The _kagune_ pierces deeper into his flesh and he writhes as the pain intensifies. He groans with his teeth clench. He’s not going to satisfy Louis, won’t let Louis see how terrified he is.

‘ _SCREAM!_ ’ Louis’ voice doesn’t sound human anymore. He throws Zayn away with his _kagune_ towards the pile of metal pipes near one of the building being constructed.

There’s a loud _thud_ as Zayn’s body hit the materials and another _thud_ when he lands on the cold hard ground. He grunts as he lies immobile on the tarmac – his wounds bleeding severely at the impact. He feels like he’s being shred to pieces with how he’s been jostled.

He can’t get any of his body parts function. He’s brain’s been screaming at him to run. But his legs won’t move. He’s not even sure they’re there.

‘Does it hurt, Zayn?’ Louis asks, giggling amusedly with that psychopathic voice that’s cold and dark and petrifying.

He needs to run. Runaway from the monster that is Louis.

‘I bet it does.’ Louis’ moving closer. ‘But I don’t know if that’s enough pain yet.’ He’s near now. ‘You’re still not screaming.’

True to his words, Louis stomps, with all his force, on one of Zayn’s leg as he laughs at the sound of the breaking bones.

Zayn screams, but it’s muffled by the blood that he coughs out. His injured leg is burning with pain. The taste of blood on his tongue is terrible and it’s making him nauseous. There’s also stray blood in his nose that’s making it hard for him to breathe.

‘Zayn?’ Louis calls out.

Zayn hates Louis’ voice. He hates how much he’s trembling with fear at the mere sound of Louis and his footsteps. He wants to cry.

The tears are threatening to spill as the pain etches into every nerve ending of his body. His brain can’t point out which part hurts more, it just aches all over. It throbs everywhere.

The cold ground under him feels too warm against the fear inside him. He closes his eyes and thinks that he’s going to die. He’s going to die now. This is the end.

He hears Harry’s voice.

 _No, he can’t be here_ , he thinks. Louis will kill Harry as well. He feels hot tears pool his eyes and he’s choking for air, lungs burning inside his chest as it grasp for oxygen. His heart is beating faster and faster in his chest like the myriad thumping will sustain his body and save him from death.

He opens his eyes, makes sure that it’s all a dream – he’s not sure which part he wants to be a dream: Harry’s voice or all of this.

His eyelids are heavy, they weigh like a ton each. But he needs to be sure that Harry isn’t there, that Harry will be safe.

Louis is crouching beside him, eyes fiery red – the only thing that sparks in the darkness around them. His _kagune_ lights up too like Naruto’s tail when he’s about to transform into the Kyuubi.

God, even in his last minute, Zayn is still a nerd.

‘It’s been fun, Zayn,’ Louis says sarcastically as he licks his lips, face fix on a mad grin that would have made Zayn shudder if he’s able to move.

He’s numb but he can still feel the pain under his skin. Ironic, really.

Zayn closes his eyes and says his mute goodbye to the only person he knows will cry if he dies, along with it, he says his silent apologies to Harry as well.

The last thing he hears is Louis’ scream. And maybe that’s it, that’s the only satisfaction he’ll get before he dies – to hear his tormentor shriek in pain.

A tear falls from his slammed-shot eyes. He’ll miss Harry.

**

 


	2. I Turn All the Mirrors Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death lurks around Zayn. And now, it's targeting Harry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of apologies for taking this so long to write. I got too distracted and days flew by. Last day of November and this still isn't done. I'm sorry.  
> Massive, massive thank you to my two lovely betas: firstly, [slytherakin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherakin/works) for all the grammar check and telling me what more to add; and secondly, to my lovely new friend, and fellow gore enthusiast, [goldleaveswithholesinthem](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goldleaveswithholesinthem%0A) for pushing me into the pool of blood (metaphorically) and tears and pain because it is needed for certain scenes. THANK YOU TO THE BOTH OF YOU!  
> Thanks to everyone who had stuck with this despite it's horror.  
> And chapter title had been taken from Halsey's CONTROL, because that had been my jam while writing this.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S.  
> TW for suicidal thought and minor character death

Fragile as human life can be, no one has ever been prepped about death. Well, the Christians maybe had answers – some may defer from the other – about what comes after death. But the question most of us forget – refuse – to ask is: _How are you going to die?_

Zayn never thought how he’s going to leave this world, but he did thought of dying; except he missed the important procedure to get the result.

And he actually never knew that the journey to die _completely_ is like living as well – painful and long.

He feels the expansion of his lungs first, how they grasp for air; his brain in a frenzy to keep every organ working – to keep Zayn’s heart beating. He feels like there’s a different person clawing its way out of his body to shake Zayn’s system awake.

Slowly, like his energy is in a form of a fog, it gradually creeps away from the tendons on Zayn’s feet, from the tips of his fingers, from the top of his head. Life is languidly leaving parts of him and collecting itself in Zayn’s chest, concentrating on keeping his heart from stopping and forcing his lungs to supply oxygen.

But it’s all useless.

So, after his heart rate races like he’s on a run with his lungs storing all the oxygen away in its sacs, every muscle and nerve endings begun to numb.

It’s the most bizarre feeling – not being able to move your leg or arm but Zayn can feel the warm energy in his chest. He can feel that the life in him is fighting – struggling – to continue and burn. But Zayn wants it to stop… because it hurts.

Having his whole existence in one place is a heavy burden to carry – painful. That’s why, it has to stop. He needs it to be over.

And Zayn learned the hard way that dying isn’t easy.

The ball of energy is warm – closely coming to burning – and it remains inside Zayn’s chest, unable to let go. It moves and rattles his ribs as it finds its way out – out of Zayn’s useless and decaying body.

It finds his oesophagus and exits through there, creating scorching pain at its conquest. And slowly, like someone big slithering out of a tiny tube, the warmth chokes him. But it refuses to stop moving, stop clawing inside of his throat even when it’s killing Zayn.

He whimpers but it’s muted by the ball of light in his throat. He twists but he’s legs and arms are lifeless. And just like every part of his body, life lingers away from Zayn. He choked on it twice before it painfully leaves him completely.

**

The first thing that Zayn registers is how he’s lying on the dark and frosty surface and everything is pitch-black. All he can see is himself, as if he’s body can’t be swallowed by the darkness that surrounds him. And it’s weird because it’s dark but he can see himself, can see his arms and legs and his body like he’s the only thing that’s coloured in this black alternate universe.

It’s also freezing – the kind that makes your teeth clatter and pierces into your skin like sharp knives, like that winter when he was 8 and he fell into the frozen lake behind their house. It was painful then – and it’s still painful now.

It’s shit, because he’s not supposed to feel pain or anything at all. Yet, here he is, still hurting.

‘But it’s lovely, isn’t it?’ It’s Louis’ voice. ‘The pain reminds you to feel.’

A shiver runs down Zayn’s spine. Why the fuck is he hearing Louis’ voice? The cold is enough torture. And to begin with, he’s not supposed to feel anything because he’s dead.

The word echoes and bounces in his head like it’s shaking him awake – to a reality that he must face and accept.

He’s dead.

He hears Louis’ giggles. He hates it.

‘Well, dying is easy anyway,’ Louis points out. ‘Life is hard… Being human is boring.’

Zayn wants to scream at Louis’ voice that he hears. He wants to tell him to leave him alone, to let him die in peace.

‘What about Harry?’ Louis asks maliciously that Zayn can almost see the boy licking his lips with anticipation at the sight of fresh meat.

Zayn’s not going to let Louis hurt Harry. He’s going to protect Harry.

‘But you can’t protect him if you’re dead,’ Louis replies and chuckles darkly.

**

There’s a lot of noise: shuffling sounds from people talking, to metallic materials scraping each other. There’s also a sound of machines that beeps and a faint light that stings his skin with ultraviolet rays.

He’s not sure which sensation to focus on. There’s too many. And it’s all blurry but too distinct at the same time.

The sound of steel annoys Zayn that he wants to yell at whoever is scuffing the metals together. But he can’t open his mouth, he can’t even open his eyes.

Maybe he went to hell. That would make sense with all the pain, hearing Louis’ voice, and now these infuriating noises.

What did he do with his life to be sent to hell? Has he not read the Quran enough? Has he not prayed to Allah enough?

Fuck! He must have been a very bad person if his after life is this shitty.

He’s frustrated with everything and not having the rest that death had promised. He tries to think of his life, rummages through his brain where did he go wrong and tries to justify why he’s not suppose to be here – wherever _here_ is.

Going through his thoughts only makes him annoyed. So, instead he tries to focus on his breathing, which is ironic because he’s dead and yet he’s trying to count the times his lungs expand and contract.

Inhale. Exhale. _One._

Inhale. Exhale. _Two._

Inhale. Exhale. _Three._

Inhale. Exhale. _Four._

Inhale. Ex—

‘Zayn?’

It’s not Louis.

‘Zayn?’

It’s Harry.

 _It’s Harry._ There’s a rattling inside his chest that he can’t explain; it is as if he’s heart is attempting to beat again.

He opens his mouth. But his lips don’t move. And before he can force a word out, the darkness envelops him back.

**

Zayn’s not sure how many days had passed since the _incident_. But he’s been awake for two days now after his operation. And Dr. Cullen, his surgeon, said that he’s recovering fast and will be out of the hospital in no time.

But he’s not interested in all the medical shit. The questions that he wants to be answered are: Where is Harry? Is Harry okay? What happened to Louis?

He hates the last one, it’s like an aching brain tumour. He shouldn’t care. But he has to because what Louis said in his dream still haunts Zayn enough hat he’s had so many nightmares about Louis killing Harry just like Louis did to him. And it hurts twice more because he can’t do anything in his dreams to save Harry – he tried to run to them to rescue Harry but he seems to be trap in some sort of fourth wall, the ones he’s read about on broadway plays.

Every sleeping hours are full of nightmares, the wakening ones are drowned in thoughts of Harry’s demise. Zayn’s not sure which is worse.

**

‘Don’t push yourself too much, okay?’ Dr. Cullen reminds Zayn as he’s being discharged.

‘And don’t forget to drink your lorazepam at night so you can get some rest, okay?’ Stella, his 35 years old night nurse, reminds. ‘There’s only few days left for you to take it, okay?’

Zayn nods, stopping himself from flinching why he had to take Ativan as if he has some sort of anxiety disorder. And maybe he has because he can’t keep calm, it always feel like the shadows will jump on him and swallow him whole and bring him back into that abyss of darkness.

‘You need to go back again tomorrow for your check-up and further lab tests,’ Dr. Cullen adds.

Zayn only nods again. It’s all surreal for him. He’s suppose to be dead weeks ago but here he is in full health and every muscle in his body feels brand-new.

‘You may have the fastest recovery in the record,’ Dr. Cullen says with half awe and half disbelief. ‘Your wounds were severe but here you are.’ He smiles. ‘We can’t be sure though. I don’t want to rain on your parade since you seem really well, but I need you to be safe.’

A shiver runs down Zayn’s spine at the mention of his injuries. When he close his eyes, he can still remember how dark his blood looks on the tarmac, he can still hear his bones breaking and his skin being pierced by Louis’ kagune.

‘Take care, Zayn,’ Dr. Cullen says and pats Zayn lightly on the shoulder and sends him another small smile.

‘Thanks, Doc.’ He gives back a small smile to the dark blonde doctor. ‘Thank you as well, Stel.’ He gives the nurse a hug.

He exits the hospital, feels two pair of eyes watching him as he leaves. He can hear their soft murmur about how he’s a miracle case and how sad that he’s all alone; and they mentioned about a handsome young boy with curly hair who visits Zayn every day.

Zayn turns back to his doctor and nurse, suddenly interested because he bet his life that they meant Harry. But the automatic glass door had closed behind him and he’s standing outside the hospital, a cab driver asking him if he needs a ride home.

How did he even manage to hear that conversation when he’s outside and so far from the hospital information desk inside, where he left Dr. Cullen and Stella?

It’s weird.

‘Zayn.’

He knows that voice, hears it calling to him at night in his nightmare – screaming to him for help. The same one he hears at the back of his mind when he’s drinking his water or when he’s brushing his teeth or when he’s staring at a vacant wall.

‘Hey,’ Harry says, cheeks and nose pink from the cold. He’s snuggling his jacket tighter to his body, both hands at the pocket of his coat to keep warm.

Automatically, he reaches out to touch Harry’s cheeks, to check the realness of the boy in front of him. He’s had too much vivid dreams of Harry that he won’t believe anything he sees till he can feel the blood pulsing under Harry’s flushed cheeks.

Harry’s skin is cold – Zayn can’t believe he’s not freezing himself when he’s only wearing a shirt. But maybe he’s body is slow to register temperatures now, side effect of all those sedative drugs he’s taking.

One thing is for sure though, the Harry in front of him – all breathing and warm and smells like chocolate – is real.

‘Are you okay?’ Harry asks, face drawn up in that motherly-worried look. ‘Does it hurt anywhere?’

For a second, Harry’s reaching out to touch him back, but the boy thinks better of it and halts his hand n mid-air like he remembered how he’s not suppose to touch Zayn because Zayn’s fragile.

Zayn brings it to himself to close the distance between them and catches Harry’s hand with his own. ‘M’fine, Haz,’ he assures, putting their hands on hip level and squeezing Harry’s hand to prove he’s not going to break.

Harry’s eyes follow the movements of their hands warily as if he’s waiting for Zayn’s hand to cut off at any moment because of doing a simple little task.

Zayn giggles – it sounds so foreign to him, but he likes the vibration it makes in his chest – because Harry can be such an idiot sometimes.

Harry looks up at the sound of Zayn’s giggles. He still looks like a worried mother hen.

‘I’m really fine, Haz,’ he assures again and smoothens the creases that forms between Harry’s brows.

The boy’s face contorts in an expression that seems inhuman. Zayn’s heart breaks in disappointment because this is all going to be another nightmare. But instead of Harry turning into the monster that is Louis – like in his dream last night – the boy bursts into tears and envelops Zayn in a hug.

Harry’s nose is on the crook of Zayn’s neck as he sobs and holds Zayn tighter.

He can feel Harry’s tears on his neck as he draws soothing circles on Harry’s back. He’s glad this isn’t a dream, that this is very real, and that Harry’s safe.

Zayn’s smaller than Harry in height and body proportion but Harry, crying like this with his head on Zayn’s shoulder and soaking Zayn’s shirt with his tears, reminds Zayn so much when they were young and he’s taller than Harry – because Harry’s such a skinny kid – and how fast he can hold Harry under his arm and headlock the younger lad because evil-7-year-old Harry just announced into their 2nd Grade class how Zayn’s got a crush on Alyssa Paget.

Harry sobs, clinches the back of Zayn’s shirt with his hand as the tears fall from his eyes.

‘I was worried,’ Harry mumbles into Zayn’s neck, words broken by his cry. ‘I was so scared.’ He holds Zayn tighter. ‘I thought I was going to lose you.’

‘I’m sorry, Haz,’ Zayn replies and lets Harry cry, because as tough as Harry may seem, Harry’s actually sensitive and soft and caring.

‘I can’t lose you, too,’ Harry chokes out in a whisper.

Because behind Harry’s dimpled smiles and easy laughter lies a story that’s inked in blood and ugly scars.

**

**_5 years ago…_ **

_‘Mum, why are there police cars outside Harry’s house?’ Zayn asks as soon as he’s close enough to his mother, Tricia, who’s on the porch of their bungalow house with both hands clutched on her chest like she’s praying._

_Maybe she is._

_‘Mum?’ Zayn calls again when Tricia doesn’t turn to him, still caught up by the colour of red and blue that lights up the darkness of the incoming twilight._

_The sound of the sirens blaring in their quiet neighbourhood have stirred the people from their houses, most of them are out on their porches and watching the commotion silently. Only a few are brave enough to take a much closer look behind the yellow CAUTION tape that the police had set up to thwart civilians._

_It’s all machine sounds at first but suddenly a shriek is heard from inside the house, followed by the sound of breaking glass._

_Zayn steps forward unconsciously, like he’s about to do something because his best friend could be in there. Anne and Gemma, Harry’s mother and sister, whom he already considered as his family are also in there._

_But the truth remains that Zayn can’t do anything, only hope that the Styles are safe._

_A shot had been fired and then another and then another. Zayn holds unto the strap of his bag tighter as another shot and scream came from the house._

_He’s not sure why he’s not among the brave audience or why he’s not rushing when he’s worried sick that he feels like he’s going to faint. He remains glued to where he’s standing, watching and feeling useless._

_He’s scared. Always fucking scared that can’t find the courage to move, not by one bit._

_Another shot is fired and he had lost count how many had been released as he holds his breath and simmers in his own guilt._

_A different palette of red colours the night; the light draws like a camera flash through the window and disappearing just as fast as it shows._

_Another flash illuminates the night, this one like thunder against dark clouds._

_A loud rumbling follows like the earth’s shaking. And maybe it is but Zayn can’t be sure, he’s dizzy with his own incompetence and self-hate. His eyes never left the Styles’ home, in case Harry emerges from the door._

_BOOM!_

_It’s like bomb had been detonated as a flash of light blinds them all for a few seconds. And when his eyes have adjusted, he’s seeing Harry crying and squirming under the hold of two police men._

_‘Gemma! Gemma! Gemma!’ Is what Harry screams towards the house. The pain dripping from his voice punches Zayn’s heart with ache._

_From the door comes out Mrs. Styles, sobbing like her son – but not hysterical – as one police officer ushers her._

_‘Gemma! Gemma!’ Harry continues to scream and fights the big meaty hands that have been holding him hostage._

_Zayn’s never seen Harry this desperate, this hurt like Zayn can physically touch Harry’s pain._

_The next person that exits the door is another police man, carrying someone in his arms. Zayn knows immediately that it’s Gemma, her peach hair, paler against the night._

_At the sight of his sister, Harry scampers away from the police that are holding him – the adrenaline making him stronger than his skinny body could have managed._

_Harry runs to the officer holding Gemma as the man slowly lies her on their front loan, where the grass cushions her – but, she can’t feel them anymore; can’t hear Harry’s cry; can’t see the tears that fall from her Mum’s eyes._

_Because Gemma’s dead._

**

Zayn lies awake in his bed with Harry asleep beside him. The younger lad refused to let Zayn all alone in case an emergency happens and Harry’s too far to reach Zayn on time. Which is ridiculous because Harry lives only 3 blocks away from Zayn’s flat.

For the first time since the _incident_ , Zayn slept a dreamless sleep. Harry’s warm beside him, one gangly arm over Zayn’s stomach that makes his heart skip a beat.

He watches at Harry’s sleeping form – and here he had stated how creepy Edward Cullen is – under the soft light of the moon that passes through his window. The rise and fall of Harry’s chest and the soft snore from the boy calms Zayn’s unsettled nerves.

He’s not sure why he suddenly remembers Gemma.

But he’s being dishonest with himself. He sure knows why he recalls her death, but the mere thought of it makes his skin cold and goose pimple to appear at his bare arms.

He remembers her because he could have died the same way that she did.

**

Right after school, Zayn goes back to the hospital to have his check-up.

His phone beeps in his pocket. He fishes it out with a new message from Harry.

_Sorry can’t come w/ u 2 d doctor. :( Mr. Punkiss suddenly announced a pop quiz. D: Be careful, ok? Beep me up wen u’re done. I’m gonna cook some chicken soup l8r cos mum’s still @ District 10 till next week. –H xx_

Zayn smiles, feet light like he’s up in the clouds at Harry’s concern.

His phone beeps again.

_Dinner’s @ ur place, btw. So, u better buy the drinks. –H xx_

Zayn grins wider, can only imagine Harry’s demanding face that’s close to pouting and begging. But it works like a charm as always so Zayn sends back an _Ok._

He goes straight to see Dr. Cullen and doesn’t start looking for Stella because her shift starts at 6pm. He waits at the empty hallway, sits down on the chairs provided as he waits for Dr. Cullen to come back from his afternoon rounds on his patients, according to his assistant, Jean.

Zayn hates hospitals; the white tile floors, the smell of chlorine and antiseptics, the cold hallways, the blinding lights that echoes on the white walls. Hospitals are eerie places, worst than cemetery if you ask Zayn. Lots of people die in hospitals and his grandma, the Catholic, used to say how the spirit of the dead stays behind where the person dies if they’re not ready to go.

 _‘I actually like dead people,’_ someone says.

Zayn knows that voice; hates knowing that voice and cowering at the sound of it.

 _‘But at the same time, I like alive ones as well,’_ the pitchy voice continues. ‘ _I love how they scream and sob and groan as you slowly see their lives leave them.’_ Zayn can hear the dark chuckle. ‘ _That’s the best bits.’_

There’s a dark silence, the kind that stops your heart from beating for a second because it’s the part in thriller movies where the killer jumps out of nowhere to stab the main character.

 _‘I wonder how Harry will look like that though?’_ Another dark chuckle that freezes Zayn’s insides. _‘Seeing how the green in his eyes loses their sparks and turns dull. Lifeless.’_

A menacing laugh echoes like thunder and jerks Zayn from his seat. He looks around nervously, like Louis might spring at him with Harry’s corpse.

Another shudder shakes his body. The nightmares are back and they’re as worse as before. He wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to run. He can’t stand the images inside his head, he craves the normalcy back.

It’s not safe to sleep anymore, to dream. And it’s not safe to be awake either.

His own head becomes an enemy, a place full of monsters inside the crevices of his memory. There’s no secure place to go to. All he sees in the darkness of the night are deep red eyes, the day on the other hand is filled with terrors of the upcoming darkness.

Where does he go?

‘Zayn,’ Dr. Cullen calls, pacing towards Zayn. He’s putting his pen on the breast pocket of his labcoat.

Zayn stands up slowly, pushing back how he feels wobbly. He doesn’t want to give Dr. Cullen the impression that he’s sick or he’s going to have to go back to the hospital. He doesn’t like it here.

‘I need to tell you something.’ Dr. Cullen frowns a little, it’s a small movement of his brows and lips that Zayn’s not sure he’s suppose to notice. ‘I just have to tell you something really important regarding your donor,’ he adds when he notices the worry that must have crossed Zayn’s face.

‘Am I still sick?’ Zayn asks, he feels dizzy at the thought of going back here. He doesn’t want to be stuck in the hospital again. He can’t. The idea makes him want to go crazy.

‘No,’ Dr. Cullen replies. He opens the door to his office and motions for Zayn to follow him.

Zayn follows and Dr. Cullen closes the door behind him.

The inside of Dr. Cullen’s office is like any of your typical doctor office. The walls are full of medical charts: human anatomy, food pyramid, parts of the body, bone chart, etc. There are also a few certificates and two fake monets.

Dr. Cullen motions for Zayn to sit down and he does. The doctor sits from across him too, behind the massive wooden desk.

He wants to prompt the doctor to tell him what’s wrong. But he hates to demand people, that’s not him. So, Zayn waits.

‘You had a failing liver when they brought you to the hospital,’ the doctor informs. ‘A few more organs like your lungs and one of your kidneys were failing as well.’

Zayn closes his eyes for a second, feeling the searing pain of being impaled by Louis’ _kagune_. But he knows the mild ache he’s registering is from a faint memory – a nostalgia he longs to forget, to be buried deep in his thought that he won’t be able to find it in the years to pass.

‘We got all the organs from the dying boy who’ve been brought to the A&E with you,’ Dr. Cullen continues and Zayn perks up – questions flooding his head and nausea making him want to vomit.

He prays that he heard wrong, or that it’s not what he’s thinking.

‘We couldn’t save Louis,’ the doctor says sadly. ‘But we have used his organs to save you. And some of his blood as well, since you have matched.’

There’s a ringing in his ears, a banging sound inside his head that makes his vision swim. He’s trembling, shaking with fear and confusion and denial.

 _No. This can’t be happening_ , he wants to scream. He looks down at his hands – palm up—wet from his sweat. He stares down at his fingers and twists them experimentally, they move according to his will.

 _Just for now_ , he hears someone – Louis.

He studies his hand like he’s not sure if they are is. Are they really his?

Maybe the muscles and the bones are his, but the blood that’s flowing inside of him – under his skin and inside his veins – they’re not his. They’re polluted by Louis’ blood – infested by the blood of a monster.

Monster. _Monster._ MONSTER.

His whole body shakes, his mind sending out warning signals as if he’s being threatened.

‘Zayn?’ It’s faint – like Dr. Cullen is so faraway. ‘Are you okay?’

He’s a monster. _A monster._ He got a ghoul’s blood and organ inside his body. Is that why he can hear Louis? Is that why he now has superhuman hearing and sight? What other abilities has he inherited?

He was 4 when he has made up his mind that he’ll become Wolverine or a mutant – he’s not going to be picky with his superpowers. But that was what he wanted: to be a superhero with superpowers, saving lives one at a time, and defeating villains.

But now that he has this blessing, it suddenly becomes like a curse.

**

The delicious smell of the chicken soup fills his nose as soon as he opens the door to his flat. But he doesn’t welcome it like he’s suppose to, like any _normal_ person would.

He can hear Harry’s faint humming of some song Zayn doesn’t know of.

Harry. Does he tell him?

Zayn remembers Gemma, Harry’s sister. She was killed by a ghoul – the ghoul that happened to be their step-dad. Harry loathes ghouls.

And now, Zayn’s a part ghoul.

 _‘That means he hates you too,’_ Louis offers helpfully, enjoying the pain that rumbles inside Zayn’s chest.

Harry hates him. There’s no denying that. Zayn can’t argue with Louis on this one. It’s the truth and it hurts. He feels disgusted with himself.

_He’s a monster._

‘Zayn?’ Harry calls, he looks flush from the heat of the stove. He’s grinning from ear to ear, a ladle at his hand and he looks cute in that yellow apron that Steve bought Zayn last Christmas for a laugh. ‘Is everything all right?’ The smile fades and worry settles on its place.

He doesn’t need Louis’ voice to remind him that Harry hates ghouls, that Harry hates him. And he wants to remove every fibre in his body and burn it because he’s better dead where Harry loves him, than alive where Harry abhors him.

‘What did Dr. Cullen say?’ Harry looks more broken than Zayn is.

Zayn doesn’t deserve Harry’s sympathy and concern because he’s a monster, one of those disgusting creatures that killed Harry’s beloved sister.

‘He’s worried that your perfect cooking will kill me,’ Zayn jokes lamely and fakes a smile because this is all he can do. Lie.

Harry pouts but relief is now all over his face. ‘It’s going to get you better, babe,’ he assures like it’s a fact and nothing can bend it.

Zayn just rolls his eyes because he can’t say _Nothing can make me better now_ out-loud.

‘C’mon.’ Harry’s pulling him by his free hand. ‘We have to eat while it’s hot.’ He pushes Zayn down on the chair softly. ‘Good thing you remembered the drinks.’ Harry takes the plastic bag with iced tea from Zayn’s hand.

He can’t explain how he’d managed to buy them, to be honest. Not when all he can think of is how he’s a monster, and how he shouldn’t have lived, and how he’s an abomination.

The soup looks good and smells good but something in Zayn’s stomach churn at the thought of eating it. He refuses to acknowledge the silly feeling in his tongue – like he’s going to puke at the sight of the soup – because he loves Harry’s cooking, always have been.

Zayn takes a spoon and stirs the broth slowly. His hands tremble as he moves the spoon with soup to his mouth because his brain is rejecting the idea of food.

He never liked his vegetables but this is a simple chicken broth. There’s nothing threatening or disgusting about this.

‘Eat up,’ Harry says as he transfers the iced tea to the glass pitcher.

One of the many things about Zayn is that he’s never been brave. But then he can be courageous now, for Harry’s sake. It’s just soup, right?

The first drop of the broth on Zayn’s tongue is revolting, it shakes his entire body into this strange feeling of puking. It tastes like garbage and his mind immediately orders his mouth to get that taste off his tongue.

Zayn runs towards the loo and vomits the content of his stomach, which isn’t much since he had not eaten anything since he woke up in the hospital. He tried eating the porridge they served him but his stomach churns just at the sight.

‘Zayn,’ comes Harry’s voice, quickly following Zayn. ‘Are you okay?’

He’s heaving everything – nothing – into the toilet bowl as Harry rubs his back gently. There’s saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth and he feels like he’s going to vomit his whole big and small intestine.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Harry says, rubbing Zayn’s back with his hand.

Harry shouldn’t be apologising. It isn’t Harry’s fault that Zayn’s stomach refuses to digest food and that Zayn’s tongue is a little rebel not wanting healthy food.

Zayn transfers from kneeling on the bowl to fully sitting on the cold bathroom floor and leans on the wall, Harry kneeling at his side and tucking the stray hairs away from Zayn’s face.

‘Do you need you medicine?’ Harry asks worriedly, hands fluttering all over Zayn like he’s looking for some open wound or a broken bone.

Zayn shakes his head. ‘Just water maybe.’

Harry nods and leaves him.

Just as his neighbour from next door, Justin turns the volume of the telly and Zayn can hear the male reporter’s voice sipping through the think walls the separates their flats.

 **Reporter:** _Scientist from the Anti-Ghoul Association has long discovered that ghouls can’t digest human food. And if they ever took any, they will more likely to vomit it. This is another sign that a person isn’t really human. This is another warning to every one of you out there to be careful. Be very careful._

And Zayn empties his stomach in the bowl again.

**

Harry leaves for his 10am class while Zayn stays at his flat to “get better.”

And while Harry’s away, Zayn forces himself to test his theory. Remember how Zayn’s not really brave? Well, he has to be, for Harry’s sake. Because he can’t let a monster like him be around Harry. It’s not safe.

‘ _You mean, Harry’s not safe with you_ ,’ Louis supplies amusedly as Zayn opens the door of his fridge.

He shakes his head furiously. He’s not hearing Louis. No, it’s a mistake – a severe imagination. Maybe even a side effect of all the drugs he’s been asked to take for his recovery. But it’s not real. It’s not.

There’s a dark chuckle somewhere at the back of Zayn’s mind.

The fridge is full of foods: vegetables, fruits, tuna, and eggs. Harry must have done some grocery, Zayn concludes.

He reaches for the apple because he’s cliché and believes the whole _An apple a day, keeps the doctor away._

Zayn stares at the fruit after he closes the fridge. It’s red and it looks delicious. Harry knows where to get the ones that smell the sweetest.

His hand shake as he lifts the apple to his mouth and his brain goes into that frenzy again, the one where it alerts every nerve cell in his body to reject Zayn’s opinion. Because this is how it is now, Zayn’s brain has a mind of its own.

He cranes his neck down to meet his hand halfway because his movement is being slowly executed and he’s done waiting for the other shoe to drop. This is it. This is the moment of truth.

The apple is crunchy, he can hear how his teeth pierces the skin and into the crispy flesh. There’s some juices flowing from the side of his mouth. And he can smell it clearly, sweet and refreshing. He remembers his mum’s apple pies during his 7th birthday.

But when the fruit lands on his tongue, his whole body seem to have gone into an electric shock because he’s coughing the fruit out and he’s stomach churns again like the clothes inside the laundry machine.

His hands shake, but for different reason this time. He can’t eat.

The reporter’s voice echoes in his head: _ghouls can’t digest human food…they vomit._

He tries again, desperate to swallow huge pieces like someone who hasn’t eaten for days. But it’s all the same, he feels sick like that time he had stomach flu and nothing stays down. His stomach pushes the food back up and out.

He spits the junk on the floor. But he doesn’t give up. This isn’t real. There must be something wrong with that apple. Or he’s suddenly have allergies towards them.

He grabs the garlic bread from the fridge and closes it back. He doesn’t hesitate to open the package, hands shaking because he can do this. He’s normal. He’s not a monster. He can eat food like a normal person.

He bites the bread and chew, ignoring the nausea that makes his head spin because he’s tongue is making disgusting remarks again. He forces himself to swallow the repulsive food in his mouth. It gets to his throat and he looks like he’s trying to Heimlich himself when he’s actually trying to get the bread to his stomach.

He succeeds but he feels sick. There’s a vile ready to shoot out of his mouth. And once again he pukes it all in the sink. It’s awful so he grabs for the pitcher of water on his small table. He chugs down half of the hydrogen in one go.

The disgusting taste in his tongue is gone and his stomach had calmed down. His knees buckle and he melts on the floor as tears pool in his eyes, slowly running on his cheek and dropping on the floor.

He feels boneless, he doesn’t want to stand and face the music.

He’s a monster. There’s no filtering the truth, no euphemising what he has become. And if there’s a far more worse for _monster,_ then maybe that’s him – that’s Zayn now.

 _‘Stop being dramatic.’_ Louis snorts.

Zayn ignores Louis because that voice isn’t real. It’s a product of his imagination, a bad nightmare. So, he focuses on crying because that’s the only thing he can, the only thing he knows how to do well.

He should be dead. He’s better dead.

He should die.

How will he kill himself?

His phone beeps and he wants so badly to ignore it, but it could be an emergency from Harry. And he might be a monster now, but he’s not a bad best friend.

It is Harry.

_remember that cool alumni i told u about? u gotta meet her. she’s awesome & she might drop a few advice on that app we want to develop for our thesis. –H xx_

This might be a sign. A perfect time to say goodbye to Harry and make sure that Harry will be okay even when he’s gone.

**

Eleanor, Zayn remembers her name now. She got long, dark brown hair that she keeps on a ponytail, she’s wearing a dark dress that clings to her slim figure, she got a grey peacoat hanging from the back of her chair, black square glasses frames her big brown eyes. In Zayn’s opinion, she’s pretty.

‘Hey,’ Harry greets, smiling hugely like he hasn’t seen Zayn in days when they’ve been together this morning, sleeping in the same bed last night and snuggling because Harry’s always cold and Zayn’s always been warm. But at the same time, Harry’s smile doesn’t look complete.

Zayn walks towards them, Eleanor’s face is so open – a smile spreads on her red painted lips. He likes her already. She seems like those nice ladies both with beauty and brains.

There’s the smell of coffee around them, but there’s also this sweet aroma that’s not clearly unpleasant to Zayn’s nose yet he doesn’t like it. He looks at Harry and he can smell him – he smells like Zayn’s cologne, he smells familiar and safe.

He ignores the sweet scent that he finds revolting because he could only be imagining it.

But then the door of the café open again as Zayn was removing his coat – he’s not even that cold but it’s much inconspicuous to wear one – and the wind blows in as he sits comfortably across Eleanor in his white V-neck shirt. The air whiffs to his expose skin but he doesn’t shudder even when Harry beside him shivers a bit despite Harry wearing two layers of jumper inside the shop.

The table rattles for a bit and it surprises Harry and Zayn. But not Eleanor. She’s reacting differently from the both of them.

Her eyes fixate on Zayn like he cause the quake in their table. Zayn smiles apologetically even when he did nothing. He’s nothing but polite.

Harry’s already introducing them both, but Eleanor’s gaze remains on Zayn and it’s not because Harry’s trying to brag about Zayn’s legendary skills in encoding and making websites and themes. Eleanor’s stare has a glint that Zayn can’t name.

**

Eleanor leaves before Zayn and Harry.

It’s just them now and Harry’s staring at Zayn too much, that same worried look like he’s scared Zayn will break by just a tiny vibration.

‘She was very pretty,’ Zayn says so Harry will stop looking at him like he’s fragile.

Harry smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Yeah?’ His voice is teasing. ‘Do you want to go out with her then?’ He nudges Zayn’s knee with his.

Zayn snorts and smiles. ‘Why can’t I appreciate people without you thinking that I want to date or fuck them?’

‘Because that’s what you’re suppose to be doing,’ he retorts playfully but it sounds painful like a mother convincing her kid with cancer to have fun and do what other kids do because that’s how it’s suppose to be.

But normal has lost its meaning for Zayn. Normalcy got deleted when Zayn woke up from the hospital with ghoul blood running in his veins.

Zayn’s not normal. He’s a monster.

And he should say goodbye to Harry now because this is it. This is the end.

He’s a monster and he can’t stay with Harry anymore. It’s not safe.

‘Harry, I have to tell you something,’ Zayn begins, looking down on his untouched cup of tea. His voice may have cracked a bit but he can blame it on his poor health – or so Harry thinks.

Goodbyes are never Zayn’s forte. Goodbyes aren’t bittersweet, they’re painful – gut wrenching painful that leaves you in nothing but a broken heart and scars. And that’s the best case scenario.

The goodbyes that Zayn had encountered in his short 21 years of life had left him nothing but an empty shell of a human being with burns that never heals and a memory that’s littered with wounds of the past – unfixable by the plaster of the present and tomorrow.

‘You see… I…’ He shifts in his seat, fighting the urge to run and disappear without a trace. That’s easier because Zayn’s never been brave, never been good at goodbyes.

‘Is it about your health?’ Harry’s hand is suddenly on Zayn’s shoulder and there’s a concerned line forming in his brows. ‘Are you still sick?’

Zayn wants to say that he’s worse than sick; he’s a walking dead. But no need to add to Harry’s sorrow. So, he shakes his head. ‘I’m okay, Haz.’ He gives a small smile.

Harry looks relieve but not fully.

‘This isn’t about my health,’ Zayn assures.

He can make a run for it, dash out of the door and not having to do this. He can go and not say anything because goodbyes always wreck him for the inside-out, especially this kind – the one that he doesn’t want to say because he doesn’t want an end.

Nothing’s forever, of course. So, he should bid farewell now; even if it’s hard, even if it feels like his limbs are being cut off one by one, even when his fingers want to hold on and stay. He needs to end this chapter formally because he owes Harry that.

Harry deserves a proper goodbye. Harry needs to know that this isn’t his fault, it’s Zayn’s fault. He needs to make Harry understand why he’s leaving because the worst goodbyes are left unsaid. And he had decided that Harry earns this for being such a good best friend, the kindest person in the world.

‘Uhm…’

Harry’s mobile rings on the table where he’d placed it. They see that it’s Eleanor.

The curly haired boy looks at him and Zayn nods his approval to answer the phone call.

‘Hey, El,’ Harry says after he places the phone close to his ear.

Eleanor says something but Zayn can’t hear clearly.

‘Yeah, he’s still here,’ Harry replies, looking at Zayn. ‘Oh. Okay.’ He nods and transfers the phone to his other hand and puts it back to his other ear as well. His free hand fumbles on the empty chair across Zayn, the one where Eleanor sat. ‘Yeah. It’s here.’

Zayn’s about to ask what Harry meant but the boy’s already putting a red flash drive on the table.

‘Okay.’ Harry nods again like he’s face to face with El. And it makes Zayn smile because Harry’s an idiot. ‘I’ll bring it. Don’t worry.’

Eleanor says something more and then Harry’s ending the call.

He’s smiling sheepishly at Zayn. ‘I have to go.’

Zayn’s surprise because he’s got plans. And now, this happens. He needs to tell Harry while he’s still brave; strike while the iron is hot.

‘I’ll drop by yours later yeah?’ Harry says as he gathers his jacket and beanie. ‘We can talk later because Eleanor said this is an emergency.’ He’s putting his beanie on and it’s chaotic with his hair being all over the place. ‘I hope it’s okay with you? Because she said that she needs some files in the drive to send to her boss this very night.’

‘It’s okay,’ Zayn assures with a smile. There goes his chances.

Harry pokes his cheek with a finger. ‘I promise to be fast, okay?’ He’s putting the flash drive in his pocket. ‘I’ll just drop this and come at yours. No more chatting. I’ll give her the USB and run straight to yours.’

Zayn laughs at how silly it sounds. And it’s Harry so he may do just that. Literally.

‘It’s really fine, Haz,’ he assures again, swatting Harry’s finger away from his face. ‘Always a menace,’ he adds when Harry puts up a fight and continues to touch his face.

They’re both giggling though.

‘At least, I remember to dress for winter,’ Harry remarks, as he stands up from his seat. He’s eyeing Zayn’s poor clothing materials. ‘You should keep warm.’

The snarky response is at the tip of Zayn’s tongue but it dies when Harry takes his scarf and wraps it around Zayn’s neck loosely, just like last time.

‘Keep warm, okay?’ Harry reminds again and kisses Zayn’s temple with a wave and a _Later_ at his wake.

Zayn pulls the scarf closer to face. It still smells the same, like sunshine, warm chocolate, and sandalwood. And more importantly, it smells like Harry. And right now, envelop in Harry’s scarf, Zayn feels perfect – normal.

He hasn’t felt like this for days – that felt like eternity.

This could just be a good sign.

**

Zayn’s playing League of Legends on his bed while he waits for Harry. He wonders why the other lad hasn’t texted or called him, announcing that he’s on the way.

He reaches for his mobile to ask Harry where he is but then his phone lights up before he can even reach for it. He smiles because surely enough it’s Harry. He opens his lock and opens Harry’s message.

He almost drops it though, like how he almost knocks over the laptop that’s sitting on his thigh, because Harry’s message is a picture of Harry unconscious and tied up.

Below it was another sent text message: _meet me up or i’ll be forced to EAT your friend._

 


	3. Can't Help This Awful Energy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn wants to be Harry's hero, but he better prepare to get his hands dirty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeey, sorry for taking so long. As always thank you to my lovely friend, [Flàvia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goldleaveswithholesinthem%0A) who had suggested things that I should add and minus. She's a saint!  
> Also, massive massive thanks to [slytherakin](http://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherakin/works) for always being the wonderful beta of all my works. What will I do without you, my Twin?  
> Of course, Halsey's CONTROL is a major part of this.  
> Thank you as well if you're still sticking around.  
> Enjoy! :) xoxo

Zayn was sixteen when he found the real meaning of pain, the kind that licks every surface of you and burns it, leaving no part of you untouched – that even his insides feel like they’re on a pyre. But this pain doesn’t let you die, it still lets you breathe yet enjoys every struggling inhale and exhale you take.

And five years later, Zayn still lives with this pain, knows it by heart and endures it because that’s the only thing he knows to do – because he’s a coward who’s scared what would happen: if he fights it – if he tries to stop hurting.

Normal people don’t sleep with their skeletons, they don’t sing them lullabies; they lock them inside their closets and hope that someday they will be forgotten and wake up one day – by some miracle – with a clean cabinet.

 _But you’re not normal,’_ Louis reminds. _‘You’ve never been. And you just got worse.’_

He ignores Louis and runs as fast as his feet can take him. And with his new abilities he’d reached the old water resource facility less than in his normal human pace.

 _'You’re welcome.’_ He can hear Louis’ smirk.

He ignores it again because he can only hear the loud thrumming of his heart, can only feel the tears that spills from his eyes. There’s no ebbing the pain that washes over him, his brain creating the worst case scenarios, making his hands sweat.

The old and rusty facility is located at the West-End of the city. It had closed down two years ago when a new water source had opened at the city centre. The barbwire around the place is barely holding up with rust eating on the metal.

Weeds have grown inside the lawn and the buildings’ paint are fading that Zayn can barely tell what colour they used to be. There at least three small buildings with glass windows and doors; some of them are broken.

There’s also a power plant at the far east of the facility, the metals flock with decay. Those water tanks used to sustain the whole city but now they’re no good.

It’s amazing that the remaining light post continues to work, making the place even more eerie. It may be not dark because of the faint light from the old bulbs but the cold is unbearable, like being put in a freezer. As the wind blows, it’s accompanied by the same sweet scent that Zayn had sniffed at the café with Harry and Eleanor.

The smell causes Zayn to stiffen. He doesn’t like it.

But he follows it nonetheless because his instincts tell him to but at the same time, the same intuition wants him to run as far as possible from the sweet smell.

His hands continue to shake as he treads the invisible path that leads him to where Harry is. He can faintly make up of Harry’s scent as well.

As Zayn circles around one building, he finds a small clearing that ends at the entrance of the woods. And there at the centre of the field, where a post lamp lights the empty land, stands Eleanor wearing the same outfit she had in their meeting sans the peacoat.

‘You made it.’ She grins widely.

A shiver runs down Zayn’s back as déjà vu kicks him. This setting looks far too familiar and Zayn can almost guess what’s about to happen next and his knees shake at the realisation.

Eleanor looks like one of those movie villains – glorious and wicked. Well, the devil really doesn’t come by with horns and tails but the best looking person you will ever meet.

The wind blows and it flows towards Zayn, bringing that sweet scent again. Zayn scrunches his nose as Eleanor’s hair dances elegantly with the wind. She looks like a model, the light highlighting her features and creating an angelic atmosphere around her.

‘Where’s Harry?’ Zayn has no time to be surprised. This isn’t the time.

Eleanor angles her face to the back of the building. Zayn follows her gaze and finds his unconscious friend, leaning on the wall.

Zayn runs towards Harry, desperate to close the short distance between them. But a leg hits him in the stomach that sends him flying near the edge of the clearing. The pain on his stomach’s the first thing that registers because it’s the most excruciating, he slowly feels the sore in his legs and arms and chest.

Fuck! It hurts all over again.

His body goes into a shock and he can’t move anything, brain too busy assessing the damage and ache all over him.

He can hear Eleanor giggling though, when he looks up to where she stands a few feet away from Harry, she got both hands on her pocket. She doesn’t even look like she broke a sweat making Zayn tumble that far.

Eleanor looks pose while Zayn looks like he’s been beaten by five people.

He tries to stand up from where he’s lying in the dirt but his body won’t listen. How can he do anything when he’s shaking with fear, his mind closing on every function – too afraid.

All he can catalogue is how he’s going to be in pain again. He’s going to experience the same thing he had felt in his sleep and feared in his waking hours. Like the ones Louis put him through.

The same pain.

Maybe worse.

 _'You loved it though,’_ Louis whispers as Zayn tries to find his bearing – his will to stand up and be brave.

Zayn wants to say no.

 _'You_ wanted _it so you can clear your conscience,’_ Louis accuses. _‘You needed to make amends for what happened five years ago. And you thought that your death will appease the mistakes you’ve made.’_ Louis’ smirking, knowing fully well he’s torturing Zayn with the truth. _‘Guess what? Your death can’t bring back your mum and sister; you’re death can’t save Harry either; nor your death can avoid Anne from losing the only child she has left.’_

He lets the sting from Louis’ words sip into his bones because Zayn’s also a masochist. Remember how he sleeps well with the skeletons in his closet?

Louis snorts in disgust. _‘What a useless piece of shit.’_

And Zayn should be insulted because Louis has no right. Louis’ the monster here – the ghoul – who eats humans and tortures people, yet he speaks of Zayn like Zayn’s much of a lower organism than he is.

 _'Because you are,’_ Louis affirms. _‘Come down from your high horse and you’ll see that you’re worst than I am.’_

 _That’s not true_ , Zayn replies.

Louis mutters something but Zayn couldn’t hear it because Eleanor says, ‘I’m disappointed by how weak you are.’ She removes a hand from the pocket of her dress and inspects at her nails. ‘Better actually because I just got my nails done this morning.’ She smiles angelically – Zayn distrusts it. ‘Don’t worry, I will still enjoy eating you.’

Another wave of fear shocks Zayn’s consciousness. He’s going to die.

It’s not happening now, but he can remember it _clearly_ : how to die. He’s going to die. Again. He’s _going_ to die.

‘And maybe have young Harry for dessert?’ She seems thrilled with her idea. It does the opposite to Zayn.

He wants to puke, to faint, to shut down completely. But he can’t. Not now when Harry’s life is also in danger. And it’s all _his_ fault.

Eleanor makes a start towards Zayn’s direction. She’s on the move to do a second blow and Zayn can’t let her. But she’s fast; just before Zayn’s about to stand up, Eleanor’s fist finds its way to his stomach, punching Zayn without holding back.

The force of the punch pulls out a groan from Zayn and makes him spit out blood at the hit. It feels like his insides have been pounded, maybe that’s real because Eleanor’s strong.

Both arms supporting him from falling on the ground, he coughs blood while he’s on all fours, trying his best not to pass out. He can’t lose consciousness; he needs to save Harry.

He needs to save Harry and ignore how his stomach aches with Eleanor’s punch that the pain creeps to his lungs, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that’s just the blood that’s blocking his throat and nose.

Zayn’s only been into a brawl fight once in his life, back when he was ten: that time Carl called him a terrorist for the colour of his skin and his ancestors. Zayn took the first swing which didn’t do much damage to Carl because he’s twelve and twice as big as Zayn.

Carl replies back with three consecutive punches before a teacher arrives and stopped the fight. All those three punches went to different directions in Zayn’s body that got him a busted lip, a bruise on his cheek, and one on his diaphragm. Tricia cried when Zayn arrived that afternoon from school.

The last punch given by Carl that landed on Zayn’s stomach eleven years ago isn’t even close to the pain Eleanor’s punch delivered. Carl’s a human boy with human strength; Eleanor’s a monster with super strength. Eleanor’s punch rearranged the organs inside Zayn’s stomach, maybe even busted his appendix.

And Zayn thinks he’s accustomed to pain, but he realises no one will ever grow use to pain. Pain is still pain no matter how small, and once you acknowledge it, it gets worse – it exaggerates itself; like how Zayn’s sure his hipbone hurts too and every inch of his body.

Eleanor grabs the top half of his hair which he usually styles into a quiff and drags Zayn up to her level. Zayn’s having a headache with how much it hurts, he can literally feel and hear the uprooted strands of hair from his scalp as Eleanor hangs him by his hair.

There’s still so much pain all over his body that he can’t make his muscles move, so he stays like that, upright by the cruel hold of Eleanor like a piece of meat being displayed in the butcher store.

‘I can’t wait to taste you, love,’ she says impishly and licks her lips, white teeth glistening dangerously in the night. She sniffs him and closes her eyes sensually. ‘I’ve never smelled anyone like you.’ Her eyes look wild and she has a crazy smile on her lips.

Zayn’s whole body shakes and he feels the tears running down his cheeks. He can’t do anything. He can’t.

He can’t save Harry.

He can’t even save himself.

They’re both going to die. And Anne’s going to be alone. Harry will never graduate from uni, Harry will never get to apply to a shitty job and complain about it, Harry will never get married, Harry will never have his own family, Harry won’t ever have the chance to carry his children on a piggy-back ride.

Harry will never be able to do anything than die and live a short life because Zayn can’t save them – _can’t_ save Harry.

It’s all Zayn’s fault because Zayn’s weak. He can’t save people; he can’t even save his mother and younger sister from the fire that killed them nine years ago. Zayn’s useless and weak and a coward.

If only Zayn has power. If _only_ he has strength.

If only…

 _‘I have what you need,’_ Louis whispers and Zayn can feel the length of Louis’ body behind him, leaning to him like he’s trying to mould himself into Zayn. _‘I can give you what you want,’_ Louis adds.

Zayn can smell Louis, sweet like his favourite pillow; can almost feel Louis’ cold hands on his hips giving him a hard squeeze.

 _Just let me in.’_ And maybe it’s the pain that’s making Zayn imagine Louis’ warm lips on his ear, but it’s the closest to safety Zayn’s ever felt at the moment with Death knocking on his door. _‘Will you?’_

Maybe Zayn should consider the consequences if he agrees. But he’s desperate. So he mutters a silent yes and prays that he’s not making the wrong decision, or even if he is, it doesn’t matter what happens to him as long as he saves Harry.

He closes his eyes as he waits for either salvation or damnation to fall unto him.

In the darkness of his head he sees Louis, illuminated by a faint light like a glow in the dark sticker. Louis looks the same, angelic but with a devilish smile and impish pair of grey-blue eyes.

Louis is wearing an all white shirt and jeans, barefooted, like those scenes from movies his grandmother used to make him watch as a kid where guardian angels dressed up in all white sans the halo and wings to help humans; or those passed away relatives or friends by the main character that serves as his conscience in his daily life. Ironic because Louis neither nor he is a guardian angel, nor is he the kind ghost friend.

‘And yet, you’ve desperately come to me for help,’ Louis reasons out smugly, lips quirking up in an egoistical smile. ‘You may brand me as the demon in your life, but you can never runaway from the fact that I am part of you, and that you need me to survive.’

Zayn’s not sure where exactly is this alternate universe that looked like his dreams when he was in the hospital. Maybe he’s dead again – for real this time. And he’s in hell with Louis.

Louis tilts his head to the side and puts a hand on his hip and snorts delicately. ‘You’re still hung up on this good and evil bullshit, eh?’ He walks slowly towards Zayn, arms on his sides. ‘Hell doesn’t exist like that, sweet boy.’

That’s not what his grandma and _daddi_ had told Zayn when he was little. Hell exists, so does heaven, resurrection, and afterlife. It’s all written in the Bible and Quran.

The feather-haired boy chuckles at Zayn’s thoughts. ‘Useless books that humans created to attain peace of mind and false hope,’ he states, sauntering to where Zayn is standing. ‘And if you really want to get philosophical, I think I’ll take what Neil Gaiman had written.’ He’s in front of Zayn, leaning so closely but Zayn can’t seem to move. Louis smiles widely and licks his lips once more. ‘I think hell is something you carry around with you. Not somewhere you go,’ he quotes.

The Chesire cat smile on Louis’ face is so diabolic it warrants him the award as Villain of the Year. How can Zayn trust someone like that?

‘You don’t have a choice,’ Louis whispers slowly, cold breath ghosting Zayn’s earlobe. ‘I’m all you have.’ He leans back, face centimetres away from Zayn as he stares into the boy dead in the eyes. ‘And trust me, we’re not so different at all.’ He smiles impishly.

**

The next time Zayn opens his eyes, he’s talking to someone, a woman with eyes with no white just pure black like a hollow hole. She looks scary but there was something comforting about her, the way that her smile feels like sincere and not diabolic despite her dark hollow eyes.

‘It’s pretty, innit?’ She’s admiring the floral curtains she had finished hanging on the windows of a tiny living room. ‘I know how you love Sunflowers.’

And only then that Zayn notices the prevailing number of Sunflowers present on the design. The dominant yellow colour warms Zayn’s heart in the weirdest way, makes him feel safe.

‘Thanks, Mum.’ Zayn knows it wasn’t him, but he can tell that it’s him who spoke. The voice isn’t him as well, but it came from him.

 A blurry reflection from the window helps Zayn understand what’s happening, because instead of seeing himself, Zayn sees a scrawny eight year old boy with grey-blue eyes.

Louis.

And before Zayn can further investigate what’s happening, the door slams open that shocks both him and Louis’ mum. A man with the same black hollow eyes enters. This man in a brown trench coat looks scary, there’s no warmth in him.

The man’s eyes darts to Zayn – to Louis – and he wants to run, to hide because the stare alone is enough to send a danger signal. He feels young Louis stiffen as the man walks towards him with predatory aura.

‘What are you doing here?’ Louis’ mum demands, putting herself between Louis and the scary man.

‘He’s my son too,’ the man screams, pushing the woman aside.

Young Louis, hiding behind his mum, holds unto her hips tightly with tears slowly running down his eyes.

‘I don’t believe you,’ she says angrily. She pushes Zayn aside and he sees the red tail that’s slowly coming out on the end of her spine.

Zayn knows what it is, young Louis on the other hand doesn’t; Louis’ trembling, Zayn can feel him shake, can feel Louis’ heartbeat accelerate with fear.

‘Mum...’ His voice quivers.

The woman turns to Zayn, eyes full of assurance and love, as if she’s silently saying not to worry.

It calms Louis down. But only for a short second because suddenly there’s blood staining his cheek, it’s warm and it smells like iron.

Zayn sees it happen, Louis did too. The man stabs Johanna – Louis recalls his mum’s name – when she was looking away. Louis’ Dad stabs his mum before she can attack him with her _kagune_.

Louis’ mouth opens unconsciously as he watches his mum dies, disbelieving what’s happening before his eyes; the most important person in his life – his whole world – turning into a limp of corpse just a few metres from him. It can’t be real, she was smiling at him a few moments ago.

His father stabs Johanna once more, and then again, and again, and again, and again – the sound of pierced flesh loud in the air, the menacing laugh of victory echoes in his father’s throat. There’s blood on the floor, more blood on Louis’ body.

He doesn’t do anything, just stands there and watch his mum die. But Zayn can feel that Louis can do something, can save his mum. He can still save her.

But he doesn’t.

Louis’ scared, he can’t fight a grown up man.

Louis father – Troy, Louis remembers vindictively – pushes the lifeless body he’s been holding up. He kneels down beside it and jabs the knife to her heart. He wipes his bloody hands on his jacket and undresses the coat.

This time, Johanna lying unconsciously on the floor, Louis cries – cries so loud Mr. Erikson from across the street could have heard.

‘Too late,’ his Dad tells him.

 _It’s not too late_ , Louis wants to retort because deep down – despite him not knowing everything about what her mum is, what he is – his instinct tells him that it’s _not_ too late.

But he doesn’t do anything.

Zayn watches, with Louis’ eyes, Johanna being lit on fire by Troy. The two of them watches how Johanna gets engulf by the flames, burn to nothing, burn to die – completely.

Little Louis falls on the floor: knees going jelly, mind hazy, eyes wet with tears, heart broken. His life will never be the same, his whole world is crush. And it’s all his fault.

He let his mum die.

Zayn drowns in the self hatred and anger inside Louis’ small body.

**

The force of Eleanor’s throw jostles Zayn awake. He feels the grass against his cheek, and the smell of petrichor eminent in the air. And he’s sure he broke his arm with how Eleanor tosses his body like a ragged doll.

He tries to stand up, goes on all four to justify that he’s trying to something, despite how weak it seems.

Suddenly, there’s pain all over him. His body convulsing like it has been electrocuted. And it sure feels like it with the ache that courses through him. As this lightning-like energy disseminates in every fibre of his being, Zayn screams loudly.

Every part of him throbs and Zayn should have known better than trust Louis.

It eats him up, swallows him – the pain blankets him and he struggles, pushes it away as his physical body writhes to the ground. In the tiny part of what is left of his consciousness, he can hear Eleanor giggling, he can imagine her pleased face while he’s lying on the dirt held down by the pain that he’s brought upon himself by trusting Louis.

He’s lying on his back, facing the dark sky littered with millions of stars that he won’t probably see if he was in town. He realises in his hazy state of mind that you really can’t see the beauty of the stars without the dark. Who even said that?

Maybe he should dig his memory about the author who’ve said that adage instead on concentrating on his pain. Zayn’s always been good at hiding inside his own mind, never been courageous enough to face the truth.

So, who said that? _Who said that?_

And of course, fucking pain punches him and tries to get his attention.

He ignores it. _Was it Aristotle?_

Another jolt, his body arches at the invisible blow. _Maybe Confucius?_

 _Or maybe from an anime._ He curls himself into a ball as the pain centres on his spine.

 _Which anime? Pandora Hearts?_ The pain burns, toasting his skin that he wonders why he isn’t on fire by how bad it scorches.

_Maybe it’s from Star Wars…_

The darkness drags him back and somehow he’s thankful because he doesn’t feel the pain anymore.

**

The wave of loathe washes him away from the scene and brings him to new shores, but he’s still looking from the same lens: Louis’ eyes.

‘You ungrateful fuck!’ Troy screams, backing away slowly towards a dumpster stand that smells repulsive. They’re both in a dark alley somewhere far, Zayn can hear the faint sound of people getting their dinner ready and settling for the night.

But Louis ignores it all, focuses on the man before him; Troy’s squirming like a mouse in the presence of a cat and Louis’ enjoying it.

‘I gave you life,’ Troy reasons out desperately, fully aware what’s about to come if he doesn’t appease his son.

Zayn knows better, he can see that logic is nothing but a word to Louis right now. Louis’ won’t stop till             every bone in Troy’s body is broken, till every finger in Troy’s hands are bended in different directions… till Troy’s heart stops beating.

Troy looks around, tries to locate an exit but he’s trap. Zayn can physically feel Troy’s fear; it’s nauseating but it’s being drowned by Louis false sense of justice: _He deserves this. He deserves this. He killed mum,_ is what goes through Louis’ thoughts.

Who is Zayn to judge?

Louis edges closer to Troy, the red of his _kagune_ illuminates the darkness in terrifying colours like there’s blood spilled on every surface that the glow touches.

‘I gave you this power.’ Troy refers to Louis’ _kagune_.

Louis smirks, Zayn can feel it – Zayn can lick the toxic in his smile.

‘And I’m going to let you taste the power you proudly gifted to me,’ Louis replies voice so soft it could be made of mallows. Of course, just because it’s soft doesn’t mean it won’t hurt for a hundred kilo of mallows will hurt exactly like a hundred kilo of coins.

There’s no escaping Troy’s death, Zayn will have to stay and watch it happen while going through Louis’ harsh memory of cruel childhood under Troy’s parenting.

Louis savours Troy’s cries, his _kagune_ stabbing the man again and again and again like what Troy has done to Johanna. While Louis’ at it, Zayn is forced to recall every abuse Louis went through: Troy forcing him to eat human liver (Zayn almost pukes), Troy killing Louis’ dog in front of the eight year old (Zayn cries with Louis), Troy torturing a man and making Louis help.

Most children are playing with their dolls or motorbike action figure, while Louis’ dismantling bones and soaking his hands with his victim’s blood.

**

When Zayn jolts awake this time he feels the faint ache in his arm but it’s slowly ebbing, like he can literally sense how the cracks in his bone are healing. There’s power flowing within him, under his veins. It makes him brand new and strong.

There’s no more pain. He can’t believe it.

He’s still lying on his back and he brings his arm up to inspect his hands. He curls his fingers once, and then again, and then one more time because he’s not sure if this is real. He can’t be alive and well at the same time.

He can’t be without pain this time.

It can’t be real.

 _'Stop playing doctor and save yourself,’_ Louis orders, Zayn can hear the pride in his voice.

Slowly rising to his feet as if he hasn’t been injured at all – it looks like he hasn’t because there are no bruises to prove that he got hurt, no broken bone that aches – Zayn knows that he’s invincible, that he can save Harry.

Eleanor laughs delicately, putting a hand on her mouth like the proper lady that she’s trying to pretend to be. ‘Well, well, well,’ she says amusedly. ‘The little baby learned how to walk.’ She smiles wickedly. ‘I think, you just made this more interesting.’

Zayn doesn’t care if she’s trying to intimidate him by her confidence in this battle. He knows what he’s capable of, or what Louis’ capable of.

The first searing of his _kagune_ is painful, it’s like someone cut a wound open on his skin. But he endures it because Zayn knows it’s his only hope to save Harry and himself. Two tails – Louis’ tails – emerges from behind Zayn’s spine. It’s like a chakra from Naruto, a strong energy that’s glowing red and physically dangerous if wielded recklessly.

‘I’ve always hated tails,’ Eleanor mutters bluntly as her own _kagune_ breaks through from behind her.

Eleanor’s _kagune_ is lovely, it’s like a pair of butterfly wings. She looks like a faerie, a devilish pixie with the red colour of her _kagune_ raining down on her small figure making her look like your worst nightmare.

‘Shall we begin this dance?’ Eleanor asks cheerfully.

He shouldn’t focus on those though, Zayn tells himself as he readies for defence.

But Eleanor’s fast that he feels the first blow before he sees it. Eleanor’s fist collides with his face and he’s flying. He plants his tails to the ground before he crashes again. His tails stops his momentum and gets him back on his feet.

His nose is bleeding, but he’s slowly healing. He can feel it.

She moves again, just as fast this time. Zayn’s tails stands alert behind him, ready to pierce if she ever comes closer.

He follows her closely but missed her by a few seconds because she’s in front of him, on the level of his torso. She’s squatting, one leg bended, the other stretched out to give herself balance as she elbows Zayn in the stomach that has him cringing in pain.

In a flash she’s gone again, a safe distance away from Zayn’s _kagune._

 _Fuck,_ Zayn cusses mentally while touching his aching stomach.

This shouldn’t be happening. It’s not suppose to be like this.

In _Bleach_ when Ichigo discovers his power as a _shinigami,_ he defeats the monster easily. It should be like that. This is already his Seed Mode if he’s in _Gundam Seed_ right now.

He’s still losing and it doesn’t make sense.

It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be.

Why is he still losing?

_Why is he still losing?_

This should be the turning point!

Zayn sees it back: him and Harry dying in the hands of Eleanor. His hope is crushed. Even with Louis’ help, Zayn’s a weakling; even with superpowers, Zayn couldn’t make a miracle for Harry.

 _‘Are you sure you’re trying your hardest, Zaynie?’_ Louis asks accusingly. _‘Or maybe you’re holding back,’_ he continues, _‘because you’re afraid that you’ll become like me.’_

It all flashes back in Zayn’s head, the satisfaction Louis felt when he killed Troy. Zayn’s blood boils with want at the idea of ending Eleanor’s heartbeat, this woman who’s trying to hurt Harry. He craves for her blood to colour his hands.

It’s a scary desire.

 _Or is it?’_ Louis smirks like he knows Zayn better than Zayn knows himself.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to acknowledge the facts that I've got from: tokyoghoul.wikia.com  
> And you should try this anime if ever you like ATTACK ON TITANS.
> 
> You know the drill. Till next chapter!
> 
> xoxo


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